Serpent King
by peachperfume
Summary: Lying tangled on her chest, sunken into the dip above her collar bone, lay a necklace. A thin golden chain sported a round, intricately carved oval. Tom could see engraved on the front a beautiful S. Around the borders lay the tiniest of hinges.
1. The Girl

**Chapter One- The Girl**

Far beneath the slowly waning moon, lay a series of cliffs of the most deadly kind. Pointed and ragged they rose up into the night sky, a fortress of gray, stone mass. Caressed half in the shadow of the clouds above, they lay, tense...poised. As if waiting for something.

It was not long before something did indeed appear. A lone figure was to be seen scaling the rock excitedly. A wind stirred his billowing robes and he stopped to run a finger through coarse, brown hair.

Tom Riddle was out of breath and elated. It had been years since he had been here, but it still gave him the greatest feeling of happiness. It was here that everything had begun, or so he thought. Here that he had first learned to harness his powers, before he even knew what they were.

It was here that he had propelled himself up the sheer rock face, using nothing but his will and determination. An excitement, unparalleled to anything else.

Tomorrow, he would be boarding the Hogwarts Express, on his way to another wonderful year at the place where he most loved to be. In the world of muggles, he was an orphan... an outcast. At Hogwarts, he was a god. The heir of Slytherin, the smartest and most good looking boy of his year.

The tang of sea air sent his skin crawling, itching, alive, dying to move. Deep beneath his feet, he knew there lay a lake, as still and calm as the sea was now. Within the pressing chambers of rock, there lay a place known to no one but Tom.

It was here, he had delegated the perfect place to store anything... precious to him. Oh, the time was so near... he could feel it!

Within moments, Tom was descending the steep, rock strewn path onto a deep sandy beach. Here and there clumps of thick, wiry grass stood mournfully, basking in the moonlight.

How wonderful it was to be alone, Tom thought. What coarse sand could not slough away, the absolute quiet would erase. Leaving him with nothing but his own soul, his own thoughts...

His eyes had swept this sandy shoreline so many times before. Glazing over every familiar boulder and crag. Coming to rest at last on the reflection of his dearest moon across the water. That light by which he had gazed into the dark depths of himself.

Lying at the edge of the water lay the tiniest shimmer of light. A sparkling little shell of some kind, caressed in the deep shadow of night. Mentally, he shook himself. _Time to go back, Tom. Time to get ready for tomorrow. Tomorrow you're catching the train and going home... One more walk along the beach. One more moment to ponder the things to come, the life to come. _

He strode across the sand. Long legs carried him forward in the most elegant of strides. As he neared the water, however, it came to his attention that he was not entirely alone.

That faint glimmer that had first caught his eye now looked to be encompassed by a dark shadow... a person. He pulled his wand from the pocket of his robes.

Walking forward again, slower now, he at last came upon a figure, lying drenched in the sand at his feet. "Lumos!" He whispered. A dazzling white light erupted from the tip of his wand and illuminated something very strange.

A girl lay at his feet. She was oddly tossed across the shore, facing upwards. Her eyes were closed, her wet hair curled in tendrils around her ears. A thin, lacy dress betrayed her as a muggle.

Tom smirked. She appeared to be dead. The remains of some pitiful ship wreck. Bending down, he began to observe the object that had first captured his attention by reflecting the light of the moon.

Lying tangled on her chest, sunken into the dip above her collar bone, lay a necklace. A thin golden chain sported a round, intricately carved oval. Tom could see engraved on the front a beautiful S. Around the borders lay the tiniest of hinges.

Tom's heart beat faster. Little trinkets had always fascinated him. With a firm hand he reached down, hovering over her chest. And then he let his fingers descend upon the locket.

They were greeted by ice cold metal. And then something happened. A surge of fire burst up through Tom's fingers and he felt his heart stop with one last, sickening thud. His finger remained glued to the necklace.

His eyes swerved up to her face and he found, to his horror, that her eyes had opened and become blinding green holes. Where there should have been an iris and pupil there was only an emanating green glow climbing through the night.

Tom pulled hard, throwing his weight back onto his heels, and, with a gut wrenching pull, his fingers broke away.

He lay panting on the sand, his breathing fast and shallow, his head pounding. That locket was cursed. He watched the girl's face as her eyelids slid slowly shut over the shining green orbs.

It was then he chanced his first real look at her. Her hair, even in the dark, was a rich blonde, falling in waves across the sand. She looked slender, fair, and completely unharmed. Although, Tom was sure she was dead. Not a breath of life stirred her.

Crawling towards her he placed shaking fingers on her wrist and pressed into her cold skin. After several moments, he felt the tiniest pounding. The faintest of heart beats. She was alive...

He glanced again at the locket. He wanted it now... oh, how he wanted it. It was powerful, beautiful, and most importantly not his. He deserved it... but how to get it? He pointed his wand at the necklace. "Accio locket!" He tried.

Nothing happened. A tiny wind sighed around his ears, teasing him. Maybe the girl had to take it off... How did he wake her? Maybe she had put on the necklace and become cursed...

His mind began to spin a million different ways. Thinking a million different theories. And one in particular seemed to stay with him. He could take her to Hogwarts and get Dumbledore to care for her... he could take the necklace once it had been removed. Yes, it was too simple. Dumbledore would discard the thing the moment he saw it, he hated dark magic. And then it would be Tom's.

His heart began to pound with the simplicity of it all. Reaching under the girl's back and behind her knees, he plied her up from the sand. Then, slinging her limp frame over his shoulder, he pointed his wand to the sky and, with a faint pop, disappeared.

Miles away in the heart of London there sat an ancient old pub. THE LEAKY CAULDRON the sign read. Night had descended over the quiet street and not a soul was to be seen anywhere nearby.

There was a small noise and, suddenly, standing there, was a young man with dark brown hair. Over his shoulder there was slung a young woman with dripping wet hair.

Tom strode into the dark dinginess of the pub. He crept up the old wooden stairway and down the dark hallway to his room. Pulling a large key from his pocket he opened the door and closed it quickly behind him.

He set the girl dripping onto his bed and stared around uncomfortably. Pointing his wand at her he began to siphon the water from her until she was dry and he pulled the quilt over her. If she wasn't dead now, she might die during the night. How was he supposed to explain a dead body in his room?

Shrugging he sat down at a small desk bathed in moonlight. Sitting before him were his new school books. Tatty, second hand books purchased with the school fund. He yawned and opened a book near him. It was a small, worn, black diary. As Tom scribbled across the page in his elegant, flowing script, the words disappeared into the thick creamy page, leaving bare parchment in their wake.


	2. Platform Nine and Three Quarters

**Chapter Two- Platform Nine and Three-Quarters**

"_Where did you get that?" Asks an old trembling voice. _

_Clara looks up into the watery, old eyes of the priest. His crimson robe is stuffed so far up his neck, he looks like a shriveled turtle. _

"_It was my mother's…" Says Clara warily. _

"_You didn't steal it? Are you sure? Your mother was a peasant, child. Where would she ever have gotten that?" _

"_You don't know that." Says Clara sharply. _

_The priests sucks in air sharply through his horsy teeth. "Such disrespect! I know much more than you do young lady. Now… Mrs. Podgemouth has been telling me that you intentionally frighten the children at her orphanage by pretending to… oh my, let me see… talk to snakes?" He looks at the plump lady beside him and she nods her head vigorously, sending her jowls aquiver. _

"_No." Clara stares hard at the floor and shakes her head. _

"_No? Mrs. Podgemouth is lying?" _

_Clara bites her tongue hard. She would love to say that Mrs. Podgemouth isn't a liar. She's just a bloated idiot. Instead she tries to make her voice sound innocent and sincere._

"_My intentions were never to frighten anyone." _

"_Oh ho! So you're saying you talk to snakes, then, hmm?" _

"_No…" Well, yes, but he doesn't need to know that. _

"_Then what exactly were you doing young lady?" _

"_I'll tell you Father!" Pipes up Mrs. Podgemouth indignantly. "She was kneelin' on the ground out by the trees pettin' a little green garden snake. As it were, I walk on up to tell 'er she's gettin' 'er nice dress all dirty. And there I hears 'er, makin' the most abominable hissin' noises you ever did hear. Un-natural like. And all 'round her are the little ones, there eyes wide as saucepans, ready to cry, the poor dears." _

"_Ah." Says the priest precociously. "What do you say to that?" _

"_Mrs. Podgemouth must not have heard clearly, Father." _

"_That's not all, Father! She's always frightenin' the younger ones with her stories. Devilish, un-natural like stories. 'Bout witches on broomsticks and black cats." Mrs. Podgemouth seems to be unloading years of resentment. _

_The priest's eyes widen. "I know exactly what we have here, Mrs. Podgemouth. A classic example of a headstrong female. Let young girls get ideas and they start acting funny." _

_Clara narrows her eyes at the floor. _

"_Young ladies shouldn't be running around outside, reading and things like that. This one needs to be developing manners, she's going to be out in society soon." _

"_Well, what would you have me do with 'er, Father?" _

_The priest looks thoughtful. "Maybe a boarding school somewhere would be fitting. There is an excellent school nearby. Saint Beatrice's School for Incurably Impolite Girls. They would teach her more than one good lesson there." _

_His eyes narrow. "And you can start by taking away that foolish thing." He points to Clara's locket. "Young ladies should not be wearing such ornaments." _

_Clara steps backward. "No, it doesn't even belong to you!" _

"_Don't be so selfish, child!" The priest yells, his face turning red and splotchy. In one quick movement he takes the locket in his soft, shriveled hand. _

_And then suddenly, he's clutching his throat. His face is turning purple; he's uttering strange gurgles and gasps. _

"_Look at her eyes!" An altar boy screams. Mrs. Podgemouth starts screaming too. _

_Clara clasps her locket and it's burning hot. _

Clara's eyes burst open. She was shaking, sweating, burning with anger. Slowly, it began to fade. The awful memory… or was it a dream?

She inhaled slowly against the pillow, taking in the soft scent of the linen. For some reason, she was incredibly tired. Her limbs felt like lead sinking into the mattress.

There was a little patch of warm sunlight next to her right eye and for the time being, she was completely content just lying there, hovering in the world between being awake and asleep. She reached up lazily to scratch her head.

"Ah, I see you're not dead."

She shot upright, heart pounding and found herself face to face with a pair of cold, grey eyes. She opened her mouth to say something, but nothing came out. The result was a rather fish-like expression.

"Had a good sleep?" The boy asked her.

"Whereami?" She finally spit out.

The boy arched his eyebrows. "You're in the Leaky Cauldron, London."

Clara felt like someone had hit her on the back of the head. "London?"

"Yes, London." He replied. His eyes slid down to her chest. "I was wondering if you could tell me where you got that." He was pointing to her locket.

"It was my mother's…" She said, absentmindedly. "How did I get here, who are you?"

The boy looked annoyed. "Tom Riddle. And I brought you here because you were washed up on the beach about to die. Who was your mother?"

"Beach…?" She was trying to remember… but the only memory she had was the one she had dreamt.

"Yes, a beach." He said exasperatedly. "Could you take that off for a moment?"

Clara looked at Tom's face. He was gazing intently at the locket. She clasped her hand around it, as though thinking. "No."

Tom's eyes met her own. He was angry. "May I ask why not?"

Right, well, if she told him, he would never believe her anyway.

"No, you may not ask."

Tom looked increasingly frustrated. "Well, I think it's cursed, so it might be dangerous for you to be wearing it."

Once again, Clara was lost for words. "Cursed… Like, magic?"

For the first time, Tom grinned. "Yes. Just like magic."

Tom sipped coffee from a slightly yellowed mug. It burned his tongue and he jerked it away from his mouth, sloshing some over the sides.

Across from him, Clara was staring down into hers, completely confused and incredulous. "There's a boarding school where people do magic tricks all day?"

"Not magic tricks! It's so much more than that. It's real, true magic."

Clara pursed her lips. "Right… ok, so you want me to go there so some old guy can save me from a locket I've been wearing since birth?"

Tom slammed his fist down on the table and Clara jumped. "You aren't listening to me!"

Clara narrowed her eyes. For some reason she couldn't get Saint Beatrice's out of her mind. "Right, well. I'm just telling you right now that I'm not going anywhere, so whatever school you're talking about… I'm not going. Thanks for saving me and everything…" She stood to leave.

"Do you know who your mother was? Do you know how she died?" Tom had to say something, anything to get her to stay.

Clara looked surprised. "Do you?"

"No." Said Tom shaking his head. "But Dumbledore will, he knows everything." He smiled inside. Perfect, she couldn't refuse now.

Clara's tongue slid across her teeth, she looked thoughtful. "I don't believe an ounce of it you know…"

Tom looked nostalgic for a moment. "Neither did I, at first."

Clara looked softly at him. The expression on her face was peculiar and unreadable. Her soft brown eyes framed in thick lashes reminded him faintly of someone… he couldn't imagine who.

"So, how about you just come along, get some questions answered, and then go, uh… home."

He watched her sigh deeply. "Alright, I suppose. But I can't pay for a train ticket or anything, you know."

"Don't worry." Said Tom laughing. "On my train, all you need is to know how to get on it."

Tom burst in through the doors of the Leaky Cauldron. Spying Clara at a far table, he rushed over to it, trying to keep his packages from falling.

"Here you are! We really have got to get going, the train leaves at exactly eleven o'clock."

He watched Clara eye the packages curiously. She pulled out a long, flowing green garment. "What… is this?"

"Your robe, try it on." Tom was nervously eyeing the clock.

Clara put it on slowly and looked down at herself. "I look ridiculous!" She tore it off.

"Then just put it away, but listen, we have really got to get going!"

"Listen, Tom, I don't know where you expect me to wear this, but I can assure you…"

He grabbed her arm impatiently. "Look, will you just shut up and come!" Clara widened her eyes indignantly, but nevertheless, allowed herself to be pulled from the pub.

Waiting outside for them was a sleek black car driven by a man with dark sunglasses. Clara looked at him skeptically.

"Ministry car." Explained Tom. He opened the trunk and threw Clara's things inside. "Well… get in."

She looked at the door handle. Tom watched her shake her head and then open the door and slide inside. He sighed. Well, it would be easy from here on out.

"Alright, so this school… Warty-whatever…"

"Hogwarts!"

"Right, sorry. And the man that teaches it… um, Dumbledorf?"

"Dumbledore. And he couldn't possibly teach the whole school, now could he."

"Yes, whatever. He'll be able to tell me things about my mum, how?"

"Well, Dumbledore just sort of seems to know things…"

"Mhmm… But I'm not enrolled in the school, will they let me stay?"

Tom considered this a moment. Muggles were forbidden from knowing anything about the magical world. But… this was different. After all, she said she was an orphan- was he supposed to just dump her somewhere?

She couldn't remember it, but Tom had a suspicion someone had tried to drown her. She hadn't implied she had anywhere to go back to, so, naturally, he should help her… right?

"Well?"

"What? Oh, yeah. They'll let you. Don't worry about it. But um, if anyone starts asking you questions, say you transferred from somewhere else."

"Alright."

They sat in silence for some time. Tom leaned on the door staring out the window. It was bright and sunny and wonderful and he was going back to Hogwarts. His final year and then he would be out in the world making his future. Or fulfilling his destiny…

"Tom?"

"Yes?"

"Do you, um, have parents? I mean, I was just wondering because I haven't seen them…"

Tom itched his forehead. "Well, I did once."

"What happened to them?"

Tom clenched his fists. He hated talking about them. If it were Lestrange or Malfoy, he would have hit them in the faces.

"Well, they died."

"Right, but how?"

"Well, their hearts sort of stopped beating like."

Clara laughed. It was a wonderful laugh. Rich and warm and friendly. It made Tom smile at the window.

"You know. I've been wondering what happened to my parents my whole life…"

_Me too_. Tom thought.

"That's the gateway."

"Looks like a wall to me…"

"Well, it is, but it's the gateway, I promise."

"That's ridiculous."

"Watch there. See those people. Keep a good eye on them."

Clara watched a young boy lift a cage up onto his trolley. He smiled in at a little owl hooting nervously and then took off towards the wall between platforms 9 and 10.

Clara watched him near the wall, gaining speed. He was about to crash into it, Clara was preparing to yell 'Watch out!' And then he was gone.

Her mouth fell open. She stared at the spot where the boy should be, but there were only bricks.

"See?" Said Tom.

"It's more like what I don't see! Where did he go!"

"Through the barrier. Ready?"

Tom watched her face turn milky white. He wheeled the trolley around to face platform nine and three quarters.

"Alright, you better go first."

Clara swallowed hard. "I still don't understand, is there something I press?"

"No, just walk through."

"But that's not possible!"

"Bloody, just walk through!"

Clara exhaled sharply and gazed around at people hurrying to catch their trains. They were all going to think her mad when she hit the wall like an idiot.

"Alright, I'll go." She mustered up the last traces of her dignity and took off at a fast walk toward the solid wall ahead of her.

And it was like slicing butter. For a fraction of a second, she was surrounded by cool stone and then she had stepped out into blinding sunlight.

Blinking, she could see, above her, a great flag, proudly bearing the words: Platform Nine and Three-Quarters.

Puffing before her was a great black train with the words Hogwarts Express painted down the side. For the first time all morning, Clara realized Hogwarts was an actual place… and she was going there.

"Brilliant!" Said Tom behind her. "Come on now, we have to get a spot on the train."

He pulled his trunk and Clara's packages up to the stairs of the train and heaved them up. It struck her how little effort this took him.

He climbed up and looked down at her, extending a hand. "Well, you coming?"

Clara nodded and stepped up to the train. Taking his hand, she climbed up into the magnificent train. Stretching out before her was a long, narrow passage lined with sliding doors.

Tom picked up the trunk and began dragging it down the hallway. As Clara followed behind him, she was stunned to find that everyone was wearing the ridiculous robes. Some in black and others in green and gold and blue and red. Suddenly, she felt very self conscious in her dress.

Tom opened a door and shoved the trunk inside. He pointed to the empty compartment. "There you are. I have to go, I've got Head duties, but I'll be back in a bit."

_Perfect._ Clara thought as she watched him retreat down the hallway. She closed the door and immediately pulled the robe on.

The train, with one last whistle, chugged to life and sped away from Platform Nine and Three-Quarters.

Clara tucked her legs up under her and leaned back against the seat. She could feel the locket resting heavily on her chest.

This was most certainly the strangest day of her life.

"This taken?" Said an icy voice. Clara looked over to see a pale-blonde head sticking into the compartment. Set in his finely-featured face were the most startling pale blue eyes she had ever seen.

"Oh, no. Well, I mean sort of."

"Well, is it or isn't it?" She immediately disliked his tone of voice.

"Tom Riddle and I are the only ones so far, so I suppose no." She looked into those eyes and narrowed her own.

The boy seemed to soften a bit. "Tom and I are mates, its all well. I don't fancy I've ever seen you before."

"Oh, no, I transferred." She said, a bit too hastily.

The boy offered his hand and Clara took it.

"Abraxas Malfoy."

"Clara."

"Last name?"

"I um, don't have one, I'm an orphan you see."

"Oh, how odd." He said indifferently.

He hadn't dropped her hand yet, so Clara pulled back slightly and he let go.

Malfoy pushed his trunk into the compartment and sat down across from Clara. She was staring out the window again.

There was something very familiar about her. About her long blonde hair and soft brown eyes and the softness of her features.

_What have you gotten yourself into, Tom._ He wondered.


	3. Slytherin's Greatest Treasure

**Chapter Three: Slytherin's Greatest Treasure**

Tom darted towards the black carriage ahead of him. His feet smashed through puddles sending icy water up his calves and into his shoes. Behind him, Clara was trying to keep up, an issue of the Daily Prophet covering her head.

Tom pulled open the door and jumped inside. Breathing a sigh of relief, he turned to help her in. But Clara was standing by the carriage staring transfixed at something ahead of her. The water hit the Prophet and dripped down the sides onto her trembling fingers.

"Clara?" he reached down and tugged her towards the inside. "Come on!"

She climbed in unsteadily. "What _were_ those things?" she asked, shaking violently.

"What things?" The carriage had begun to move.

"Those horses… they looked horrible!"

Tom turned to look at her, curiously. The wisps of hair above her forehead had curled from the humidity and in the dark he could see the reflection of her eyes staring wide open toward him.

"You can see them?"

"Of course I can!"

"Well, not just anyone can, Clara."

"They remind me of… dying." she spoke quietly and turned her gaze out the window of the carriage.

Tom held his tongue. He didn't want to remind Clara of the person she had seen die by explaining exactly why she could see those Thestrals.

He could see them too… But that was a story he would not be sharing for many years to come.

Out the window, Tom could see the castle, gleaming brilliantly. His heart swelled in anticipation. This year to come, he was sure would be magnificent. There was nothing between him and glory, him and power.

The carriage rolled to a stop underneath the overhanging that led up to the front doors.

Tom hopped out, anxious to find his mates. The throng of people were swelling through the front doors into the Great Hall. Tom spotted Abraxas' blonde head in the distance. But where were Lestrange and Seville and the others?

_Clara!_ He had forgotten completely. Turning around, he shoved through a cluster of girls who had been admiring him from behind and hastened back down the steps.

Clara wasn't by the carriage anymore… He walked past the Thestrals and past a reunited couple hastily snogging before they had to go inside.

_How can she be lost already?_ He wondered madly. There were so many stupid things she could do and say.

_She must have followed me into the crowd._ He turned around and hurried into the castle where people were shivering to keep warm.

He spun 360 degrees, his eyes whirring across faces, searching for wavy blonde hair. And then he spotted her. She was standing against a far wall talking to someone.

Suddenly angry, Tom marched toward her. Seeing who she was conversing with, his fists clenched automatically.

"Turner," he hissed.

Clara turned around. "Oh, there you are Tom!"

"Yes, here I am. You would do better not to wander, Clara."

Edward Turner had narrowed his eyes.

"Edward was just explaining to me that-"

Tom grabbed her arm. "Let's go."

Clara blushed. "Sorry, we're, uh, going. See you later."

Tom couldn't explain the sudden jealousy that had welled up inside him, but no way was he going to let Clara talk to Edward Turner, the most self-righteous Gryffindor at Hogwarts.

"That was horribly rude!" said Clara, brushing Tom's hand off her arm.

"He's an arrogant fool, Clara, don't talk to him."

"He seemed perfectly nice to me. Offered to let me sit at their table and-"

"If you ever sit at that table, I'll-"

"You'll _what?_" she had stopped walking, her eyes narrowed. Tom turned around and found her face pinched with anger.

He could match that. His eyes always did the talking. No one could look him in the eye. He fixed a glare at her.

Her brown eyes glared steadily back at him. Tom clenched his teeth. "Since you don't know anyone here, just trust me when I tell you someone's a prick."

"Since you obviously have no manners, just trust me when I tell you you're being horribly rude."

Tom choked, taken aback. He was, for once, lost for words.

"Come on," he said angrily, walking again.

"Where are we going?"

"Dumbledore's office, he won't be at the feast yet if we're lucky."

They plodded along in silence for some time.

"So, why did you jump out of the carriage so fast?" Clara asked mildly.

"I just got excited. I don't get to see anyone over the summer."

"I can see why you love this place, Tom, its gorgeous… It's a real castle, isn't it?"

"Yes, it's real."

"Who had it built? Queen Elizabeth… or maybe her father Henry… although everyone knows he was a nutcase, doesn't mean he couldn't have built a-"

"The four founders, actually," said Tom grinning. This was a story he loved to tell.

"The four who?"

"The four founders. Helga Hufflepuff, Rowena Ravenclaw, Godric Gryffindor, and Salazar-"

"Slytherin."

Tom turned around, shocked. He found Clara's face just as confused as his own "You… know about him?"

Clara shook her head. "Well, no, but, I just knew that name… somehow."

Tom's curiosity in her had peaked again. He thought of the locket and the way her eyes had been glowing that night on the beach. He knew she had no idea who her mother or father had been… she was orphan.

Or was she? Perhaps she was lying… Tom hated liars.

He caught her face in an iron grip and noted her flinch satisfactorily. If he could just keep eye contact with her, he would know if she was lying. "Who are you?" he demanded.

Clara tried to pull back angrily. "You're supposed to be telling me." she replied defiantly.

Tom lowered his face until it was a mere breath from hers. He could see right into those clear brown eyes, searching them for the smallest trace of deceit.

He noted that she was trembling softly… trying to hide the fact that he was scaring her. Her face was deathly pale.

Dropping her face, he pulled back. There was a faint flicker in her eye as he stepped away.

"What? Did you think I was going to _kiss_ you?" The words came out nastier than he had intended.

Clara's face turned stormy again. "That's the absolute most repulsive thing I can think of."

"Well, I'm glad we agree on _something_." he replied, watching her roll her eyes angrily.

"You're the one who wanted me to come here so desperately."

_Why does she have an answer to everything? _"I'm just curious about your locket."

"Yes, everyone seems to be…"

Tom studied her a moment longer. When she turned her face down like that, she looked so glaringly familiar that his body ached to know why.

"Come on, we need to hurry," said Tom. Dumbledore's office was close now. And if the professor had left already, Tom would have to sit through the entire feast before getting his hands on that locket.

He stepped through a doorway into the Transfiguration classroom. The shiny floors and dusty smell excited him. His second best subject after all…

"Mr. Riddle?"

Tom looked up to see Professor Dumbledore descending the steps from his office wearing a stunning sapphire-blue robe. He was twirling a knobby finger in his auburn beard and looking very curiously at Tom and the muggle behind him.

"Professor, could you spare some time? We have a problem of sorts."

Dumbledore's twinkling eyes were fixed on Clara and if Tom didn't know better, there was an intense curiosity behind that twinkle.

"Of course, Mr. Riddle, of course," he said, waving an arm toward him and started back up to his office.

Tom ushered Clara before him and followed her up the stairs.

Dumbledore's office was small and densely packed with curious whizzing objects. Clara stood in the doorway stunned before Tom pushed her into a seat.

Dumbledore sat down in the lush armchair behind his desk and pressed his fingers together pensively. "So, what have we here, Tom?" The face he had fixed on Clara was one of unmistakable delight.

"I don't understand why you're so mad…"

"You wouldn't."

Clara stole a look sideways at Tom who was storming down the flight of stairs. "He seemed nice enough, just because he said he needed time to think-"

"He knows more than he said. Stupid old man, thinks he's so smart."

"I think you're just angry about the locket, because he didn't make me take it off." As soon as Clara had uttered the words she regretted them.

Tom turned around, his eyes glinting maliciously. "I have a feeling that if I tried to take it now, I could."

"Take it _now_?" Clara's hand slid instinctively to her chest until she felt its cold weight beneath her fingers. "You've tried to take it before?"

Tom turned around and started walking again. '_Take_ _her down to the common room._' He mimicked Dumbledore. '_Seeing is believing. Think things over._'

"What a load of shit. I have better things to do than baby-sit you."

"_You _brought me here, not _him_." Clara reminded. She had the feeling that with every word she spoke, she was pushing Tom further and further toward the edge.

She followed him in silence, eyes down, carefully trying not to trip on the hem of her robe that didn't really fit.

Suddenly the ground beneath her shuddered and began to sway. An ear-splitting scream broke the silence and with surprise, Clara realized it was her own.

The stairway beneath her had suddenly broken away from the ground and was moving through the air. Clara wrapped her arms around a banister and shut her eyes.

She heard a dark chuckle as the stairway slowly stopped moving and came to a halt with a shudder.

"The stairs will do that now and then, let's go."

Clara remained glued to the railing, shaking. "What if it moves again?" She felt a warm arm wrap around her waist and ply her up. And then she wasn't sure if her heart was racing because of the stairway or because she was suddenly very close to Tom Riddle.

As soon as they were off the stairway, Tom let go and Clara felt a surge of disappointment.

The corridor they were in now was cold and dark. Clara followed the sound of Tom's robe swishing and suppressed the shivers running down her spine.

She could hear Tom mumbling something and then suddenly, a dark portrait before her swung open and a bright room was before her.

Stepping into it, blinking, she found the room to be packed with noisy students, flying objects, and bags of spilling candy.

When Tom stepped in, however, a hush came over the room. They looked upon him with fearful admiration and turned curious eyes to the plain girl wearing too-large green robes standing behind him.

A group of boys stood up from where they had been sitting before the fire. Tom greeted them with a smile and, one by one, they exchanged knowing glances.

Clara recognized Abraxas among them. "It's good to be back, eh Tom?" he asked, heartily.

"It most certainly is, Malfoy. Clara, let me introduce you to my friends," he said, grabbing her robe and pulling her out into the middle of their little cluster. Clara smiled nervously at them.

"You've already met Abraxas?" he asked. Clara nodded. "And here's Lestrange, Rosier, and Seville."

"You look like Lady Evelyn." Said the last, Seville. He was staring at Clara from under his long, dark lashes, his expression one of cool appreciation.

Abraxas inhaled sharply. _"That's _who you look like! I knew you were familiar!"

"Who's Lady Evelyn?" Clara asked, turning around to face Tom. She was startled to see his face contorted in surprise and… anger?

"I'll show you," said Abraxas. He took Clara's arm and wove her through the crowded common room. He took her to a far wall and pointed up at an enormous painting.

Staring down at Clara was a startlingly beautiful woman. She was sitting in a chair by a window, buttery sunlight dancing off of her golden hair. Her skin was pale, almost translucent and she was staring sadly at Clara through large, brown eyes. Her thickly lashed eyelids blinked quickly. _No, she didn't blink. Paintings don't blink. _

Then the woman took a pale, slender hand off of the arm of her chair where it had been resting and brought it slowly up to her chest. Clara's eyes followed, languidly, until the woman's hand came to rest on a golden locket hanging from her neck. Clara's heart was pounding. _Why does she have my locket! _

An iron hand clamped down on her shoulder and hot breath forced its way into her ear. "You lied to me." The tone of voice shot shivers up her spine. And then she was wrenched away from the beautiful portrait.

Faces breezed by her; curious faces, hungry for information. Clara was forced out of the tapestry hole and into the hallway before Tom rounded on her.

"Why didn't you tell me?" he shouted.

"Tell you what?" she asked, something choking the back of her throat for no apparent reason. She was acutely aware of Tom's gang who had taken their places behind him, threateningly.

"You're related to Lady Evelyn! It explains your locket! I was so _stupid_ for believing you were an orphan!"

"But Tom, I don't even know who Lady Evelyn _is_." she said, tearfully now.

"You LIAR!" Tom shouted, brandishing a little wooden stick.

"Tom, come on… maybe she's telling the truth." Seville stepped out and placed a consoling hand on his arm.

Tom gnashed his teeth and shoved the stick away regretfully. "Heads room. Now," he said coldly, turning sharply on his heel and stalking away.

Abraxas jerked his head, beckoningly, and Clara followed, at a complete loss for words. Tom was _terrifying._

Tom sat in an arm chair before the fire, staring blankly into the blue flames of its depth. He was so confused now, an emotion he loathed. Dumbledore had known Clara from the moment he fixed eyes on her, there was no other explanation for him to send them to the common room. And, as much as Tom wished it, Clara showed no signs of lying to him. She was as, if not more, clueless than he.

"Tom… that painting… did you see it move?" Clara's voice was small and distant, tunneling through his thoughts to register only slightly in his mind.

"Mhmm," he murmured.

"Of course it moved, it's a picture after all," said Seville, looking at her curiously.

Tom rubbed his eyes. "She's a muggle, Seville. Don't ask any questions now, I need to think." A stunned silence followed while the young men waited for Tom to speak.

"Alright…" Tom began. "Clara. Lady Evelyn was a woman who lived thousands of years ago, before the construction of this school. She… how do I put this lightly? She was a love affair of Salazar Slytherin's you might say."

Tom glanced at Clara to see her staring into the fire with a far away look.

"Anyway… Evelyn betrayed Salazar. Now, this is only speculation, but it is said that she was the one who alerted Godric Gryffindor to the existence of the Chamber of Secrets, after the four founders had parted ways. It was, most likely, her hope that no _mudbloods _be harmed."

"Salazar sent her away from him and married another, but not before giving her a gift. That necklace, right there," he said impressively, pointing to the locket hanging from Clara's neck.

Clara stared at him, eyes wide, trying to understand.

"Now, it was no ordinary gift. It was in fact, a curse. I do believe, as legend goes, that it cannot be removed without significant harm to the bearer… which would explain why Professor Dumbledore did not make you remove it."

He watched Clara swallow and shift her legs nervously. "Lady Evelyn supposedly tried every method she could to lift the curse, but to no avail. No one seems to know _what_ its magic is. And then there are those who deny its existence altogether. Which you have just contradicted, seeing as its hanging off of you right now."

"It's cursed?" she asked, her voice hoarse.

Tom nodded. "The thing I don't understand is how you came to have it… You look _just_ like her, Clara. But Lady Evelyn was a pureblood and her descendants were likely to be and stay purebloods. I just don't understand how it could have fallen to the hands of a muggle, or, if you're not a muggle, why you weren't down on the list for Hogwarts."

Tom paused then, eyeing Clara intently. "I don't know if you understand or not, but hanging about your neck right now is Slytherin's greatest treasure."


	4. Whispers in the Dark

**Chapter Four: Whisper in the Dark**

Tom tossed and turned, his sweaty skin sticking to the silken sheets. For some reason he could not sleep. The air was warm and heavy and strangely alive.

He crawled out of his bed and walked to the window on the far wall. It revealed only the darkened turrets of Hogwarts and a black, starry sky. He had to admit, it was much nicer here than in the dorms, where there were other boys to prevent him from pacing the room.

Tom walked to his desk and pulled the diary out of its drawer. Somehow, it didn't seem quite safe there. Holding it in his hands, he continued his trek of the bedroom. Everything was still and quiet. Why was it that he could not suppress the need to be awake?

Fifteen minutes later, he had exhausted things to look at in his room and, poking his door open, he peeked out at the plush red sofa where Clara lay tangled up in blankets. Here and there a leg and arm poked out, as if she too were hot tonight.

He crept into the room and walked to the fireplace where a few dying embers remained. Sitting down, he stared into those embers, caressing the smooth cover of his diary. His eyes went out of focus and he sat very still, his body falling asleep while his mind delved back to the conversation from earlier that night.

Tom had forced his mates into an oath of silence about Clara. The last thing he needed was additional attention and people nosing into his affairs.

There was still the problem of the locket. He could it forcibly, but he had no idea what its powers were. It could be incredibly dangerous.

"Tom?" Tom swung around so fast his head hurt.

Clara was peeking over the top of the couch. "You can't sleep either? It is awfully hot isn't it?"

He didn't reply and turned back to the fireplace. Behind him, he could hear her get up and walk across the floor. She sat down beside him and rubbed her eyes.

"It's real isn't it," she said, and there was something maniacal in her voice.

"What is?" He asked, turning to face her. Clara's brown eyes were gleaming in the firelight.

"_Magic_," she whispered. "It explains so much… I knew it wasn't my fault I was hurting those people… it was the locket, wasn't it."

"You hurt people?" Tom asked.

"I can't explain it," she replied, suddenly defensive. "I would get angry, and it just happened."

Tom felt like laughing. "How strange," he said quietly.

"Yes, it is… This whole place is," Clara replied.

"I think Hogwarts makes much more sense than your world."

"I still don't understand why magic has to be hidden. It could help so many people."

"Why should we help them?" Tom spat. His face was creased in lines of repulsion and anger. "One day Clara, that world wont exist anymore. No more filthy muggles with their stupid orphanages and ignorant disgusting people. One day the wizarding world won't have to hide anymore, mark my words."

"And how exactly is that going to happen?" She asked cautiously.

"We need a leader. Someone powerful, more powerful than anything anyone has ever dreamed of. Someone who will make change happen."

"You?" Clara asked.

Tom turned and looked right into Clara's big brown eyes. "Perhaps."

"That's an absolutely terrifying thought." She said, observing the greedy glint in his eyes.

"Fear is power," Tom said simply.

"Then all it takes to topple power is one person who discovers that their leader is really just a schoolboy who obsesses over lockets and wants to rule the world," said Clara carefully.

Tom waved his arm. "Enough."

Clara gazed rather dejectedly into the fire. After a moment's silence she said, "I'm hungry."

Tom looked at her, and then his eyes grew wide. "Of course you are, we skipped the feast to talk with Dumbledore. No wonder I can't sleep. Come on, let's go down to the kitchens, I'm sure they'll feed us."

Clara stood and followed him out of the room. The corridors that had been lit so brightly earlier were now dark and eerie. Clara followed Tom closely in an attempt not to lose him in the shadows.

Tom led her down two flights of stairs which were cold on her bare feet and down the big marble staircase that led to the Great Hall. Here he turned left and went through a little door into a spacious hallway lit with many little torches. Hung about the walls were various paintings of food.

Tom stopped at a picture of a great silver bowl filled with fruit. Reaching up he tickled the side of a pear resting on its side and seconds later, the portrait swung open.

They stepped into an enormous room lit with many candles and fires and ovens. It emanated a warm fuzzy glow that bounced off hundreds of gleaming copper pots. All throughout the room, cleaning, sleeping, and eating were tiny, shriveled creatures.

All bore similar uniforms and all had enormous eyes and bat-like ears. Clara stood staring, prepared to scream and run away should the little creatures attack.

Presently, a particularly old one wobbled up to Tom and bowed deeply. "What can we get for you sir?"

"Set out whatever you've got Choppy, we missed the feast," said Tom. In seconds they were loading a long counter with every kind of food Clara had ever imagined.

Tom pulled a plate of treacle tart toward him and began to pick at it. He ate here and there, like a bird. After a few moments, Clara took a seat at the counter. Before her was an enormous bowl of mashed potatoes and within seconds she was eating anything within eyesight.

Midway through a bite of pudding, Clara realized she was being watched. Turning, she saw Tom staring at her from over a goblet of pumpkin juice. "What?" she asked, her mouth rather full.

Tom shrugged. "I guess I've never seen someone eat so much food in so little time," he sneered.

Clara felt her face burn and set down her fork. Swallowing, she said, "I thought you were hungry too, all you've had is that tart there. Looks like you've picked it apart fairly well. Find what you were looking for?"

"I guess I'm not so hungry after all," he said, staring at her again. "You can keep eating." It sounded more like a command.

"Not with you watching me," she replied indignantly.

"Why?"

"Because…" Clara said, searching for the words. "It's odd."

"It's rather amusing, actually, the way you eat," said Tom thoughtfully. "Your pinky sticks out when you hold things, did you know. And you seem to take a bite of everything without eating one thing all the way."

Clara thought on this for a moment. "I guess… I didn't realize. Never really watched myself eat, have I…?"

Tom shrugged. "See all those house elves?" He asked, pointing to the creatures who were watching them eat, happily.

"House elves?" Clara asked. "I thought elves were…"

"They are the most marvelous creatures I think," Tom cut her off. "They serve without question or hesitation, as long as you are their master."

Clara stared at them all. Collected there in their clean little uniforms, content with their serving lives.

"I think it's a bit awful, actually," said Clara.

"You would," Tom replied, coldly.

Clara shivered uncomfortably. "Well, let's go, I'm full."

They climbed off of their stools and Tom led the way through the portrait hole into the cozy chamber and then to the foot of the staircase.

"Are you tired?" Tom asked.

Clara hesitated. " No… not really."

"Let's go somewhere, then. Come, follow me." He set off up the stairway but then turned right on the first floor.

"Tom, where are we going?" Clara asked, sprinting up beside him.

"Shh! We can't be caught out of bed, and me Head Boy as well. Keep quiet," hissed Tom.

Narrowing her eyes, she sighed and followed him. The corridors were so dark the only thing Clara was really sure of was the floor beneath her feet. Tom was a ghost, slipping through the air before her, the sounds of his feet padding the floor nothing more that whispers.

Suddenly Clara stepped right into something. She was about to mutter in astonishment, when someone clamped a hand over her mouth.

"Someone's patrolling," Tom whispered, his hot breath tickling her ear. Indeed, Clara could faintly see down the hallway a small orb of light drawing ever closer.

Tom grabbed her arm and pulled her down the hallway, toward the light. He stopped suddenly again and pulled the two of them into an alcove. Clara was preparing to say they would surely be seen here when Tom placed another hand over her mouth and pressed her into the wall.

For a moment, she was angry but that faded quickly. She could feel his heart beat, his chest rise and fall. He was breathing heavily, a look of excitement on his face. Clara had a sneaking suspicion that Tom enjoyed this.

Suddenly, she could hear the patroller's feet echoing very near. Light was bouncing off the walls of the corridor casting shadows on the floor.

Tom pressed even closer against Clara in an effort to further conceal himself. His face was less than an inch from Clara's and she was suddenly filled with the overwhelming desire to touch it.

Then Clara saw an old man pass by their hiding spot. He was wearing a bright purple nightgown and fluffy blue slippers. Clara recognized him instantly as Dumbledore, whom she had met earlier. She couldn't help but like him. He seemed completely lost in thought and passed down the hallway and out of sight.

Tom leaned in, and for one incredible moment, Clara thought he was going to kiss her. Instead he whispered into her ear, "Dumbledore's much too easy." Clara thought she heard triumph in his voice.

Then he pulled away and a gush of air hit her body where Tom had just been. A familiar wave of disappointment flooded through her.

Tom stepped out into the hallway. "Come on," he said happily.

Quite suddenly he was bathed in light and someone cleared their throat behind him. Clara felt her stomach drop. She turned around into Dumbledore's twinkling eyes.

"I thought I heard someone," he muttered. He didn't seem angry so much as amused. "Tom, what is this?"

Clara looked at Tom and was surprised to find his face contorted in intense anger. "We missed the feast, as you know. So we went to the kitchens."

"Any reason why you might be on the first floor?" He asked, smiling.

For this, Tom had no answer. "Alright, well. Back to bed, both of you. I wont take any points, but do take care Tom. It would not look well for the Head Boy to take points from Slytherin, would it?"

Tom seemed to be writhing with anger. Without another word he grabbed Clara's hand and pulled her past Dumbledore to the stair case.

He walked in stony silence up the stairs until they reached the fourth floor where the Head Boy's room was located.

Muttering the password to the painting of the smiling toad, Boris, he stepped inside. Grabbing the nearest thing, which happened to be a bowl of licorice snaps, he threw it with an angry heave into the fire.

Clara stood very still, shocked. She had never seen some anger as quickly as Tom did. He stood, staring at the snaps which were desperately trying to scuttle out of the fire, his chest heaving.

"I hate him!" He shouted.

Clara bit her lip. "Tom, calm down…"

"Don't tell me what to do," he said furiously, and stalked into his bedroom, slamming the door behind him.

Clara stood for a moment, wishing she had never opened her mouth. Quietly she walked over to the couch and climbed underneath the blankets. Now, completely exhausted, Clara fell instantly asleep.


End file.
